


your hands

by mercuryhatter



Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Guilt, Miscommunication, Other, Reconciliation, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 00:02:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16586855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryhatter/pseuds/mercuryhatter
Summary: Anaander Mianaai uses her accesses to command Breq and Seivarden's deaths. Sphene intervenes. they both live to feel needlessly guilty about it.





	your hands

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [breathing easy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8449600) by [venndaai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/pseuds/venndaai). 



> this is a WIP from 2016 that I never finished, born from discussions between myself and venndaai that ended up with us both writing the same scenario with different takes. I dug it up again tonight and decided it was finished enough for posting. I no longer very much like most of how I wrote Breq, and I think you'll be able to tell that I never quite stitched the whole thing together properly, but this has literally been sitting in my drafts for almost three years now, so why not.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Anaander Mianaai said, her voice still measured and calm but now with an audible edge of rage. “ _ Justice of Toren _ One Esk, you are far more trouble than you’re worth.” She began to sing, low and rough, and Seivarden saw Breq go still. Seivarden edged closer to Breq, watching both her and Anaander warily. She felt deeply uneasy, but wasn’t sure what she could possibly do about it. 

The song ended, and Anaander Mianaai, to Seivarden’s surprise, held out the gun to Breq. 

“Dispose of yourself,” she commanded coldly. Suddenly, time seemed to move very fast. 

At the same instant as Breq stepped forward to take the gun, utterly expressionless, Seivarden yelled “ _ fuck no!”  _ and leaped forward in what she registered even then as an insane attempt to intercept her. Anaander scoffed incredulously even as she jerked back, away from Seivarden and thankfully, away from Breq. 

“Fine,” she said, barely looking at Seivarden as she spoke again to Breq. “Kill her first.” Seivarden barely had time to think of another curse before Breq reached out, ancillary-quick, and seized Seivarden by the throat. Her hands were  _ strong, _ devastatingly so, felt more like metal than flesh, and Seivarden could hardly even wheeze past the crushing pressure. For a split second she only felt numb, long enough to think, wildly, that this wasn’t how she had pictured a scenario like this going, before her head and chest and neck all exploded into pain. She scrabbled uselessly at Breq’s hands and arms, felt her knees give out, her muscles turn sluggish and heavy from the lack of oxygen. Something crumpled agonizingly inside her throat and her vision went white. She stopped bothering to struggle, could hardly feel her extremities well enough to even if she’d had the strength. She hoped to every god she’d ever prayed to that someone else would come in before Breq could finish her off, that someone would come between Breq and the gun and that fucking  _ bitch _ Mianaai. 

Time and space were acting very strangely now, stretched-out and compressed all at once, but one moment Seivarden was hanging from Breq’s hands and now, she was sure, she was on the floor. The lack of pressure on her throat wasn’t helping her draw in air; something was very wrong there, judging by the pain and the high, thin wheezes Seivarden could hear herself making. She wasn’t dead yet, but presumably she would be very soon. She tried for a moment to continue panicking, but that was beyond her now, and she allowed herself to slide into a deep, odd calm when she heard the door open. Someone else was here now, someone else would be able to stop Mianaai, and if Seivarden died, that was all right. 

Then a gunshot rang through the air and Seivarden’s panic came flooding back. Instinctively— _ stupidly— _ she tried to move, but the motion caused another starburst of pain to explode somewhere inside her, and she lost consciousness almost instantly. 

\--   
  


The moment  _ Sphene _ shot Anaander Mianaai, right in the face, Breq crumpled to the ground. It was hardly a conscious motion, almost defensive—if she could have deactivated her body then and there to prevent it from moving against her will again, she would have. Anaander’s song still echoed faintly in her mind, and she wanted to tear it out with her bare hands—but she didn’t want to think about her bare hands, her own hands clenched around Seivarden’s throat, the feeling of her larynx fracturing and the faint, useless scrabble of her hands on Breq’s wrists, the high, wheezing whine from Seivarden’s lips dwindling to almost nothing. Breq could still hear it now, but only barely, as she sat frozen on the floor, watching blankly as  _ Sphene _ assessed Seivarden. There was blood bright on her lips, but she wasn’t coughing now, wasn’t moving at all, her eyes rolled back and half-lidded. For a half-second, before more people started to fill the room, the only sounds were Seivarden’s faint wheezes. Breq herself was utterly silent. She felt as if her vision was snapping, disorientingly, from the scene in front of her to one twenty years removed. Then, at least, there had been something to do immediately following the carnage, a pressing objective that kept Breq moving until she was safe enough to collapse. Now, there was nothing.

Breq would have killed a thousand Anaander Mianaais now to be herself, so that she could have all of Seivarden’s data, so she could have thousands of bodies with which to keep Seivarden alive. With communications still down, she couldn’t even have what  _ Mercy of Kalr _ could give her, and now that the room was filling with security, medics, her own crew, she couldn’t even have the simple auditory data of Seivarden’s breath, couldn’t be sure it was even still there. Nor could she let herself move, for the safety of everyone in the room. Not until every trace of Anaander’s voice was gone from her mind. 

She stayed still on the floor, pliable but motionless, as Seivarden was put into emergency suspension and whisked away, as station medics put correctives over the wrists that  _ Sphene  _ had broken to get Breq off of Seivarden, as communications were reestablished and a small group of Kalrs appeared to take Breq back to the ship. She went immediately to her room, lay down on her bed, and didn’t move a muscle for hours, not even to close her eyes. 

\--

  
  


It was four days before Medic would even consider waking Seivarden, and it was only the first twelve hours that Breq spent trying to will herself into nonexistence. It was sixteen hours before Ship sent in Kalr Five to speak for it. Five had obviously been crying recently, but she controlled her expression well and her voice was steady and calm as it carried Ship’s words.

“Lieutenant Seivarden is out of suspension and stable,” Ship reported. “She will remain fully sedated for at least three days.” Breq found herself faintly surprised at that, although all of her emotions were blurry and distant.

“Return, Ship?” She meant to say more, about how that was ridiculous after what she’d done, about how Ship couldn’t possibly want her as a captain anymore, even to point out that Ship had been withholding data from her even after the communications came back up, but instead she just laughed, short, raw, and humorless. 

“I’m withholding data because I don’t want to overwhelm you,” Ship said, inferring part of what Breq hadn’t said aloud. “I thought receiving especially Lieutenant Seivarden’s data would be more distressing than helpful to you. I don’t blame you for what happened, Fleet Captain. None of us do, but I, especially, understand.” Except it couldn’t understand. Sure, Ship knew better than any of the human crew what it was like for another person to have the power to force you into things, to override your own will, but Ship had never been ordered to kill one of her own. Not like that, not  _ more than once, _ and so incredibly unjustly each time. Breq scrubbed a hand through her hair, frustrated, then let it drop back to her side abruptly as if it had burned her. 

_ She isn’t dead, _ Ship said directly to Breq.  _ You didn’t kill her. Remember that. _ Data finally began to flow again, first just a faint background hum of Ship and everyone on it, all of them various levels of tense and worried, but all safe and alive. Then Medic, looking down at Seivarden as she monitored the internal corrective that was feeding her oxygen and healing her fractured larynx, as well as the external ones that were working on burst blood vessels and bruises. She was keeping a close eye on brain function, watching for hypoxic brain injury, but before Breq could dwell on this too long, Ship filtered in Seivarden’s data as well. Sedated as she was, it wasn’t much. With the internal correctives at work, she wasn’t even breathing as she would normally be. But her heartbeat was there, slow but strong, as well as all the other tiny functions of her body, humming along as best as they could. Breq took a deep breath, perhaps her first since Anaander Mianaai had begun to sing.

“Thank you, Ship,” she said, taking refuge in her ancillary’s voice, and felt Ship’s gentle acknowledgement. “Kalr Five, you’re dismissed.” 

“Please call me if you need anything at all, sir,” Five said sincerely, and closed the door behind her. 

\--

 

Seivarden woke up to what was becoming an almost familiar sensation—confused, in pain, and coughing something thick and slimy out of her throat. She thought for a moment it was suspension fluid, a very frightening moment in which she was sure she would have to start all over again in another unfamiliar place and time, but the texture wasn’t right, and there was something familiar about the pair of voices speaking to her, one near her left side and one directly into her ear. 

An internal corrective, she realized, but then remembered in a rush why that would be there, and fell to panic again almost immediately, trying to say Breq’s name before the corrective was even fully out of her mouth. The first familiar voice—Medic—was saying something irate, rubbing her back firmly as she coughed out the corrective, but Seivarden didn’t process a word of that over the other voice, the one in her head.  _ Mercy of Kalr,  _ who was saying, over and over so that Seivarden would know it was real:  _ she’s alive, Fleet Captain Breq is alive, she’s uninjured, she’s alive.  _

The corrective finally out, Seivarden began to sob, painful and strange-sounding. She curled in on herself convulsively as Medic discarded the basin Seivarden had coughed into, wrapping her arms around herself, aware that crying wasn’t doing her injuries any favors but wholly unable to stop. 

“All right, all right,” Medic said, sounding harried as she pressed a series of tabs into Seivarden’s arm. Seivarden wanted to protest, wanted to stay conscious, wanted desperately to see Breq herself, but she felt the medication moving through her system almost immediately, and drifted off into a heavy, uncomfortable sleep. 

The next time she woke, Ekalu was sitting by the bed, her hand wrapped around Seivarden’s wrist. Medic loomed over her shoulder, ready to sedate Seivarden again the instant it seemed like she needed to. 

“Don’t start crying again or I won’t let you stay awake,” Medic said sternly. Seivarden, through the lingering haze of medication, managed to look faintly sheepish. “Also, don’t talk. You’ve done enough damage already.” Seivarden, unable to nod with her immobilized neck, made a small gesture of assent. 

 

For three days after she was first revived Seivarden drifted in and out of sleep, various levels of drugs in her system, still banned from speaking too much. Sometimes she would wake up to Ekalu sitting nearby, sometimes to another Amaat, or just to Medic, but never alone. Occasionally one of Breq’s Kalrs would be there, usually to speak for Ship. Breq, conspicuously, never was. 

“It makes sense,” Seivarden said morosely to Ship, who was speaking through Kalr Seven. “I’ve fucked up plenty of times before, but this has to be a record.”

“The Fleet Captain doesn’t blame you,” Ship said. It had become a common refrain since Seivarden had been conscious and speaking for long enough to make sense.

“I almost got her killed! If I had been able to do my job before she got there, even if I’d just been able to hold onto the gun…” Seivarden curled smaller under the blanket, wrapping her arms around her chest. “It’s fine. I know I fucked up. She’d be perfectly justified never to speak to me again.” 

_ If she felt that way _ , Ship said,  _ I’m sure she wouldn’t be keeping such a close watch on you through me. She’s hardly requested data from anyone else since you woke.  _ Speaking directly like this, Seivarden could hear the barest edge of frustrated sternness in the synthetic voice. She turned her face into the pillow miserably.

“Probably just making sure I don’t make things worse somehow,” she muttered, muffled, and refused to speak again until eventually, Medic chased Kalr Seven out. 

\--

_ You have to visit Lieutenant Seivarden, _ Ship said to Breq. Lieutenant Ekalu was technically still in command while Medic kept watch on Breq’s emotional state, but Breq was still rising and sleeping with the rhythm of her Kalrs’ watch, occupying herself with inane tasks, or simply looming over people in Command. Always with Seivarden’s data a steady stream in her mind, always silent except for necessary commands and requests. She hadn’t sung a note since returning to the ship. 

“No,” she said shortly, surprising even herself. Of course she wanted to see Seivarden, if only to verify with her own eyes that she was alive, to have some impression of her that wasn’t the feeling of cartilage collapsing under her fingers. But she was neither selfish enough nor foolish enough to think that Seivarden would want to see her. And somewhere, in some small Mianaai-poisoned part of her that she refused to dwell upon at length, she was afraid of what she would do if close to Seivarden again, as if mere proximity would bring that particular body of the tyrant shimmering back into existence, singing her utter control. 

_ She thinks you blame her for everything,  _ Ship continued, insistent.  _ She thinks that’s why you won’t see her. Because she failed you, again.  _ Breq opened her mouth to protest.  _ That’s what she said to me,  _ Ship said, cutting her off.  _ I know that’s not how you feel, but I couldn’t convince her otherwise.  _

“Try,” Breq said, almost pleading. “I can’t see her, Ship. She shouldn’t want to see me.” 

_ And yet she does, _ Ship said placidly.  _ Whatever your feelings on the matter, it’s having a negative effect on her recovery. Her physical injuries are nearly done healing, but she won’t comply with the therapy exercises Medic has prescribed. Her emotional state is volatile at best.  _ Ship punctuated this litany with the relevant data for each statement, compressed and delivered pointedly in staccato bursts. It was all information Breq already knew—that Seivarden was depressed, listless, noncompliant, spending most of her time crying off and on or sleeping fitfully and waking up gasping. But Ship showed it to her this time the way that Ship herself saw it, with all the context that she had learned about Seivarden, about Breq, about their history. It was enough to make Breq feel faintly ashamed, a different stripe than the self-loathing that had set up comfortably in her mind for weeks now. She could feel Ship watching her reaction, silent, slightly reproachful, but there was an undercurrent of sympathy as well. 

“All right,” Breq said finally. A bubble of fear began to swell in her chest, but Ship was soothingly present in her mind. At the same moment, Ship informed Medic that the Fleet Captain would be coming to see Seivarden, and that it would be best if she didn’t have other visitors at the time. Medic grumbled, checking to make sure she had plenty of mild sedatives and mood stabilizers close at hand. Ship also provided Ekalu, who was visiting at the time, with an excuse to leave, and finally spoke to Seivarden.

_ Fleet Captain Breq is coming to see you,  _ she said, projecting as much soothing calm as she could.  _ I will be here for both of you. Please remember, she does not hate you or blame you, and neither does anyone else.  _ Despite Ship’s efforts, Seivarden’s adrenaline spiked sharply at the news, and she gathered her blankets up around her, a sort of defensive cocoon.  _ Medic will be standing by if you need anything, and so will I.  _ Then, Breq was in the doorway, holding herself awkwardly, rare for someone as comfortable as she was in her body, her hands clasped behind her back. She seemed reluctant to step farther into the room, but with Ship’s silent encouragement she moved at least far enough to allow the door to slide shut behind her. Seivarden sat up abruptly, clutching her blankets around herself still. 

“I—“ she said, roughly, then pressed a fist into her mouth, looking down and away from Breq. “I’m sorry,” she muttered into her fist, feeling the now-familiar pain of tears rising into her still slightly raw throat. She blinked rapidly, a few fat tears collecting by her nose. Breq made a quiet, pained noise.

“No,” she said. “You did nothing wrong. You tried to save me, and I couldn’t protect you. _ I’m _ sorry.” Seivarden gasped, very quietly, more a by-product of trying to hold in her tears than anything else. 

“I thought you were done with me. I thought you would never want to speak to me again. I thought…” Seivarden trailed off, curling into herself. 

“I’m sorry,” Breq said again. 

“Come here, please,” Seivarden said quietly, darting a glance up at Breq through her eyelashes, as if to gauge her reaction. “Please. I—please.” Reluctantly, the bubble of fear only growing and gaining tension in Breq’s chest, she stepped closer, intending to sit at the side of the bed, but having to fiercely suppress a reaction when Seivarden reached out suddenly and grabbed, presumably for Breq’s arm, but catching the hem of her jacket instead. 

_ Go, _ Ship said in her ear.  _ She needs this. You both do. I promise you, it will be all right. You aren’t going to hurt her. I won’t let you.  _

Breq let herself be pulled onto the bed, held herself still and soft as Seivarden wrapped around her, quickly dampening her jacket sleeve as she tucked her face into Breq’s neck. Breq didn’t notice her own tears until she saw twin spots of wet bloom on Seivarden’s gown. She wanted to put her arms around Seivarden in return, remembering the warmth and security of times she had done it before, but she couldn’t move her hands without feeling the stiff crunch of cartilage, the crushing of skin and tendons. She was afraid bruises would bloom wherever she touched, whether she wanted them to or not, and so she stayed frozen in Seivarden’s embrace, letting her cry herself dry. 

“I thought you were dead,” Seivarden said at last, her voice painfully raw. “I thought you were going to die, no matter what I did, and it would be my fault for not doing my job. At first I really thought I might be able to get the gun away from her, from you, but then… well, I was just hoping to keep you distracted long enough for someone else to come. Of course I couldn’t help you myself.” She sounded bitter, self-flagellating. “I’m sorry, Breq. I didn’t want to lose you.”

“So you thought I could lose you?” Breq said, slightly cryptic in her less-than-expressive voice, and Seivarden winced. 

“Sorry,” she said again. “I figure… well, it’s old news by now, but you did jump off a bridge from me. I never really got to return the favor.” 

Breq didn’t know if she would ever be able to trust her hands on Seivarden’s skin again, but she moved closer with her body, hooking her chin over Seivarden’s shoulder and curling around her. 

\--

 

_ Sphene _ dropped by some time later, looking, Breq suspected, for someplace other than Station to loiter on its way back to itself. It strolled into Breq’s quarters unannounced, having weaseled its way undetected around Kalr Five somehow, and now draped itself over the end of Breq’s bed, apparently waiting to be noticed. Breq blinked away the vision of Seivarden, her hair being unbraided by Ekalu (bare-handed, which in retrospect was maybe not something Breq should be watching, but Ship hadn’t said anything about it) and raised an eyebrow at  _ Sphene. _

“So,” she said. “You got to shoot her after all.”

“I did,” _Sphene_ said, inscrutably. “I would have liked to shoot more of her, but I suppose this was a start.” Breq made a small gesture of agreement. “Your lieutenant came through, I assume?”

“She did,” Breq said, looking again at Seivarden despite herself. All of her hair was loose now, puffed in a soft cloud around her head, but she and Ekalu seemed to have gotten distracted somewhat since beginning the project, and Breq let the vision go. “Thank you for what you did. Not shooting the tyrant, I realize that was your main purpose and had nothing to do with me. For—“ _Sphene_ scoffed abruptly, sitting up straight.

“Stop, Cousin. I wasn’t going to let you kill your officer, especially not  _ that _ one.” Breq’s face twitched just slightly, confused about the stress on “ _ that _ one.” 

_ She means your favorite, _ Ship said to Breq, sounding faintly amused.  _ It isn’t exactly a secret, Fleet Captain.  _ Breq started to tell one or both of them, sternly,  _ Seivarden isn’t my favorite, _ but stopped herself.  Ship, in particular, was probably tired of hearing that. 


End file.
